


i had the time of my life with you

by chocobos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobos/pseuds/chocobos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m nine,” Castiel says, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so great to be seven anymore. Or the one where Dean and Cas meet young and don't ever really part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i had the time of my life with you

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to suchalamb@tumblr for beta'ing this for me. You're like my saving grace! 
> 
> I was shamelessly inspired by a Taylor Swift song for this fic idea (Mary's Song), and kind of put my own twist to it. I also shamelessly stole a lyric from her song Long Live for the title. 
> 
> If there's anything that me or my beta missed, feel free to bring it to my attention! Also, I'm absolute crap at rating things, so if you feel the rating should be lower or higher, please do not be afraid to tell me that as well!

Dean meets Castiel first when he's seven, outside in his grandparents backyard, and he doesn't think much of him other than he's weird and has bright eyes, and his hair looks like it's never been combed before in his life–which Dean can't help but envy, because  his parents make him comb his hair thoroughly everyday ("Personal hygiene is important, Dean," his mother scolded him, "girls like it." Dean didn't like girls so he didn't see the importance of bathing all of the time and combing out his hair, but he did so anyway, because it made his mother happy. She was the only girl who Dean ever really cared for back then and he would do anything to see her smile).  
  
They just stare at each other for what feels like forever, Castiel’s blue eyes staring at Dean’s face so intently that it reminds him of his little brother Sammy’s face when he’s trying to poop. Only he doesn’t look like he’s constipated, just rather thoughtful.  
  
This only confuses Dean. After all, he’s only seven–his mom says he’s smart, but Dean thinks she’s just being nice.  
  
“I’m seven!” Dean says proudly, like it’s the greatest accomplishment to be over five, old enough to have people start taking him seriously, once it’s clear that Castiel isn’t going to say anything.   
  
Castiel tilts his head, like he’s not quite sure what Dean’s even  saying . It makes Dean uncomfortable, but only because he doesn’t like being misunderstood.   
  
“I’m nine,” Castiel says, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so great to be seven anymore.  
  
Dean crosses his arms petulantly. “I’ve been dressing myself since I was three,” he says instead–that’s a  feat .  
  
Castiel’s head just cocks even further before changing the subject abruptly. “I have to go feed my pet snake, Raphael,” he stops himself for a moment, looks over at their parents in what could only be one longing for approval, and then his gaze fixes on Dean again. “Do you want to meet him?”  
  
Dean looks over at Castiel in surprise. “Raphael?”  
  
Castiel doesn’t even blink–Dean’s starting to suspect that he never does that  anyway , but seriously. Weird. “Yes,” he confirms at length. “Do you have a problem with his name?” He sounds offended.   
  
In Dean’s experience, when most kids sound offended it usually doesn’t end well, and by ‘well’, he means he gets shoved into trash cans and punched in the face with sticky fists. The new boy doesn’t seem all that physical, but Dean knows first hand that looks can be deceiving.  
  
Dean scoffs. “You named your snake after a Teenage Mutant Ninja. . . Turtle,” he gives Castiel a pointed look. “Which is funny, because, you know, don’t snakes  eat turtles?”  
  
He tilts his head impossibly, and Dean can’t help but wonder idly how his neck doesn’t hurt, or how it hasn’t broken yet. “I don’t understand that reference.”  
  
Dean shrugs, not really bothered by it. “I’m going to call him Raphie, though, because Raphael is just weird.”  
  
Castiel bristles. “His name isn’t weird. It’s sentimental.” And really, Dean doesn’t know what that means.   
  
They settle into a kind of uncomfortable awkward silence, wherein Castiel stares at Dean and Dean tries to avoid his eyes at all costs. Dean is quick to change the subject, because he doesn’t like awkward silences. He just met the boy, and is quickly considering him his friend, and he doesn’t want to mess it all up. “Sure,” Dean enthuses, trying not to sound too excited, because while Castiel is kind of odd, and talks like a book, he has a  snake and he’s nine (a whole two years older than Dean himself; an older kid has never taken an interest in him before, whether it was forced or not); Dean wishes silently that he could be him.  
  
“He’s a Black Racer,” Castiel informs him, like Dean is supposed to know what it is.  
  
“Cool,” replies Dean, because he might not know what a Black Racer is, but it sounds pretty cool and he’s always wanted to meet a snake. “I can’t wait to meet him.”  
  
Not even a couple of minutes later, it starts raining. But Dean doesn’t pay attention to it, because he’s too busy having fun with a  snake in Castiel’s  room , and it’s more fun than he thought it would be, but the thudding on the roof in a steady rhythm eventually lulls them both into sleep. His head is resting on Castiel’s shoulder and he would’ve been embarrassed but he’s only seven and somehow this seemed like something friends just did for one another.   
  
Plus, Castiel didn’t seem to mind, so Dean didn’t either.  
  
-  
  
The boy that Castiel met when he was nine ends up being his best friend.  
  
He wasn’t sure what to think of Dean at first, because he was far too enthusiastic, and so very desperate to please–to please Castiel, and their parents, and even his baby brother who couldn’t comprehend what being pleased even  meant –and that had raised far too many red flags for Castiel’s liking. But he was nice, comfortable, even, and Castiel hadn’t really felt comfortable in a long time.   
  
Dean accepted him and thought he was pleasant. That was enough for him. His parents had always told him that he never needed much, and, well, they ended up being right.  
  
It’s been two years since Dean bounced into his life in a flurry of excitement and wonder. They’re inseparable now, spending every waking moment together even though in a month Castiel’s going off to high school and Dean’s staying right where he is at the local middle school. He feels kind of guilty for it, seeing the increasingly distressed looks that Dean throws his way when he thinks Castiel’s not looking. But there’s nothing he can do about it, really–it’s not like he can put off his education for another two years. (He would if he could, but he really doesn’t think his mother would appreciate that.)  
  
So when Dean had suggested at the beginning of summer that he come with him and his family to the log cabin they buy out for two weeks in the middle of June, he said he would think about it.   
  
Dean didn’t know this, but he had gone straight home afterwards to his mother and father to ask them. After promises of keeping up with his summer reading and being on his best behavior, two weeks later he was in the Winchester’s Impala with them.  
  
Dean has known about Castiel coming for weeks now, but he’s still throwing excited-but-dazed looks at him, like he can’t really believe that Castiel’s here with him. He doesn’t say anything back, nor does he smile with his mouth–Castiel finds that hard these days, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he hates his smile, and his teeth are crooked, and compared to Dean’s, it pales in comparison–but he smiles with his eyes.  
  
Dean knows him well enough to understand him.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here, Cas,” Dean murmurs, and it’s soft and quiet in the closed in space of the Impala, so quiet, even, that Castiel doubts anyone can hear what Dean’s said.  
  
“I know,” says Castiel, and it’s not out of some twisted form of self-entitlement. It’s because it’s the truth, and also, it’s not like Dean hasn’t been stressing this fact for the last five hours that they’ve been in the car.   
  
“I am glad to be here,” he adds on eventually; he knows that Dean’s waiting to hear it, and Castiel has always been more than willing to oblige him.  
  
Dean’s answering smile is brilliant, and Castiel can’t help but think of the bright pastel paints his mother got him for his birthday one year, when his father was away on business and couldn’t make it. She’d gotten him the brightest, most expensive ones they had–he knew this because he had checked (an internet-literate seven-year-old probably can be quite useful sometimes)–even though they couldn’t afford it. He never used the paints, and they still sat in his room, unused and still just as bright, but Castiel can’t help but realize, after Dean’s turned away and Castiel is left to his thoughts, that Dean happens to shine brighter.  
  
*  
When they arrive at the Cabin (Dean’s stressed this enough that Castiel has just began capitalizing it in his head) it’s pouring down in sheets, coating their clothes and making Castiel’s usually messy hair probably look worse for wear. He grabs his bags anyway, and helps Sam with his too, because Dean is looking at him in a moment of fleeting panic like  he wants to help Sam, but can’t.  
  
Once they make it inside, Dean and Sam are looking at each other with quirked mouths and eyes lit up in mirth–Dean because he’s finally  here , and Sam because he’s seven and he’s still at that age where getting caught in the rain while wearing your nice clothes is still the most rebellious thing that can happen besides refusing to eat your vegetables (which Sam already does, so it’s pretty much a moot point now).  
  
Castiel watches in faint adoration, his face kept passive, as his mother has always stressed that it’s better to keep your emotions off of your face and to wear them on your sleeve instead (“You can still be open,” she explained to him, “but at least when you wear it on your clothes, they’re less likely to use it against you.” He didn’t argue with her logic because he was six, and everything his mother told him was right, back then. But now, he wishes he kind of had).  
  
“You boys must be freezing,” Mrs. Winchester says, coming into the room with a couple of blankets. “Go upstairs and get settled and changed. Then we’ll have dinner,” she smiles warmly at them, and Castiel has always liked her, so he’s not surprised by the feeling of genuine warmth that spreads throughout his chest.   
  
“Thank you, Mrs. Winchester,”   
  
Mrs. Winchester smiles at him in exasperation, as she always does. “Castiel, how many times have I told you to call me Mary?”  
  
Castiel knows that his eyes probably look sheepish right now. “Thirty-seven, ma’am,” he says; he keeps count.  
  
“And yet you don’t,” she remarks, but she doesn’t sound annoyed, only perplexed and maybe a little awed.   
  
Castiel doesn’t call her Mary because he finds that disrespectful, and he’s always liked her too much to insult her character like that, whether she knew about it or not.  
  
*  
  
That night, Castiel and Dean settle into their room–they’re sharing because Sam’s the youngest, and in the Winchester household that means he gets the upperhand. Castiel doesn’t mind, though–he finds Dean’s soft breathing oddly calming.  
  
He lies awake in a bed that isn’t his (but that’s not the reason he’s awake) and looks up at the ceiling. It isn’t much, just your basic popcorn style, but he traces invisible patterns and pictures with his eyes. It passes the time.  
  
Castiel doesn’t sleep much. Sometimes it’s because there is too much to see or nothing to see at all, and sometimes it’s because he simply cannot will himself to fall, but he’s never really minded. He relishes in the extra time.   
  
“Cas?” Dean asks.  
  
While Castiel doesn’t jump, it’s a close thing. “Dean?”  
  
“Hey,” he whispers, so soft and warm it eases all of the tension out of Castiel’s body that had been brought on from his thoughts. “You should sleep.”  
  
“I should,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I can.”  
  
Castiel’s not sure, but he thinks Dean smiles into his pillow at that.   
  
“Cas?” He asks, after an indeterminable amount of time has passed. Castiel stopped paying attention to clocks when he realized that they didn’t really help time move along faster. They simply recorded and provided a routine, but that wasn’t what Castiel was after, anyway.   
  
“Yes, Dean,”   
  
“I’m really glad you came,” he repeats, “I know I‘ve been saying that a lot, and I feel like a girl but I’m glad we could spend time together,” he finishes, and he doesn’t say it, but Castiel can hear the ‘before you forget me’.  
  
“I will always be here, Dean,” promises Castiel, even though he knows he doesn’t have to.  
  
He may not have to, but he wants to, and he also vows that this will be the promise he tries his hardest to keep.  
  
  
-  
  
Dean is in a horrible mood.  
  
It’s finals week, so he’s naturally in a horrible mood, caught underneath a layer of review sheets and a flurry of caffeine induced studying. He’s never really cared much about school, especially when he was younger, but since he met Castiel all those years ago, he  tries , and he’s realized that he’s actually pretty smart. But it’s finals week, and as much as that sucks on its own, it also brings him closer to May, which he doesn’t want to happen.  
  
May is when Castiel graduates high school, and then they only have the summer to spend together before he goes off to college–Dean doesn’t know where, and hasn’t asked because he’s sort of terrified that Castiel picked the farthest school possible. It’s reminding him too much of when Cas went along with them on their vacation when he was going on to high school–it’s different now, though, because everything has changed, and it will continue to, too. He knows he should be happy for him nonetheless, because Cas has worked hard for the grades that he has, and he deserves the best, just because he’s  Cas , but Dean’s selfish at best and there’s not a lot that he would sacrifice.   
  
Castiel falls in that category.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
  
They haven’t talked since last week, when Cas had come over to watch the latest Mission Impossible movie with him (torrents, Dean decides, are  awesome ). It bothers him, but he says nothing; he has enough to stress over between family obligations and kid brother problems and studying for finals. He doesn’t need to worry about Cas running off to college and forgetting about him forever.  
  
But he does.  
  
Dean realizes that he’s kind of being a little melodramatic, but then again, he’s not sure he really cares.   
  
Cas  can’t leave. He promised.  
  
But Dean knows better than anyone that promises get broken and that’s either because you care too much or don’t care enough, and at the moment Dean honestly doesn’t know where Cas lies.  
  
*  
  
Cas shows up at his house that Saturday, with Dean’s face pressed into arm, sheets pooling at his waist.  
  
“Dean,” someone murmurs. “Wake up,” the words sound exasperated, but fond.  
  
Dean grumbles something incoherent, and presses further into his bed. It’s Saturday, fuck them if they think he’s getting up earlier than two.  
  
There’s a sigh, and then footsteps which tell Dean that they’ve left, so he relaxes into the bed and–  
  
Suddenly there’s cold water all over him. He pushes himself off of the bed blindly, and lands with a dull thud in a heap of sheets and a pool of water on the floor.   
  
“What the actual  fuck ?” Dean screeches–manly, of course–because who the fuck wakes someone up like that? “Sammy, so help me, I will burn every fucking book you have on organic vegetables if you don’t get this off me  right the fuck now .”   
  
Once his eyes aren’t completely useless anymore, he peers over the bed and stares at the blurry outline of Castiel, who is looking at him–if Dean isn’t mistaken–with something that resembles annoyance. Right, like he has the right to be annoyed when Dean just had  water thrown on him.  
  
“ Cas ?”   
  
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, in that Cas way of his, one that spreads a feeling throughout his chest that he can’t and doesn’t want to explain. He’s grown to hate that feeling lately, but he’s pretty sure that it has nothing to do with Cas himself and everything to do with what’s coming up in September.  
  
“ You threw water on me,”  Dean shouts, kind of incredulously. He barely pauses for a breath before adding, “what the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
He’s never done this before.  
  
“I did throw water on you, Dean, and no, there isn’t anything wrong with me,” Cas says, looking at Dean like he’s stupid for stating the obvious. He probably is. “But you were ignoring me, and I have grown sort of tired of it,” he says. “I don’t understand why you’re ignoring me,” he continues, so soft and kind of forlorn that Dean feels like he’s killed Cas’ snake Raphael–who died two years ago, and yes, that’s  still a sore subject.  
  
It’s not like Dean really blames him. Raphael was something else, really.  
  
“I haven’t been ignoring you,” he denies.   
  
He hasn’t been  ignoring , per se, more like he’s been purposely forgetting that Cas exists in order to cause himself the least amount of pain possible. Truly, Cas should be  proud of him, because Dean’s never cared about the state of his emotions this much.  
  
Cas fixes a glare on him, and Dean tries not to cower under the weight of it. “ Dean ,” he hisses.  
  
Dean doesn’t say anything for a while and fixes his gaze on his hands, because it’s easier than looking at Cas’ face and seeing all of the emotions there. It’s especially hard when none of them are good, especially the full-pledge panic that color his eyes, like he thinks that Dean wants to cut ties with him.  
  
The fact that he  doesn’t is their entire fucking problem. But Cas doesn’t know that, and as much as Dean wants him to never find out, he’s been petty and ridiculous.   
  
“I don’t want you to leave,” Dean whispers, quiet, so quiet that he’s not even sure Cas heard him.  
  
Evidently, he did, because the next thing Dean knows, Cas is grabbing hold of his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “ What? ” He asks, indignantly, and then he licks his lips and visibly calms. “Dean, I’m not – I’m not going to leave you. Why would you think such a thing?”  
  
“First,” begins Dean, staring in fascination at the wall behind Cas’ shoulder, “first, in three weeks, you graduate high school, Cas. And then after that, you’ll probably be gone for a month out of the summer to tour around the world looking at colleges because you’re smart Cas, you’re so fucking smart you  terrify me sometimes. And then after you find a college in who-the-fuck-knows-where, you’ll move there and forget about me man.”  
  
Cas is making increasingly disapproving noises as Dean goes on, and by the time he’s finished, Cas’ hands are gripping his shoulders so tight that he’s not sure if he should be surprised by the strength in the grip, or angry at the fact that there will probably be bruises littering his skin tomorrow.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” says Cas, simply.  
  
“Tell me how you  really feel, Cas,” he retorts.  
  
Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m not going away for my extended education.”  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow, and pathetically, he feels a string of hope–laced in guilt, but hope nonetheless.  
  
“What?”  
  
“If you would have  talked to me you would have learned that I got accepted into UCLA,” Cas says, carefully.   
  
“But that’s ten minutes from here,” Dean says, stupidly. So, so stupid.  
  
Cas’ eyes meet his, and suddenly Dean feels like the biggest jerk in the world. He’s been ignoring Cas because of his own damned pride and fear, and hadn’t even once considered what he was going through.   
  
“It is,”  
  
“That means I’ll still see you,”   
  
“It does,”  
  
“You’re not going away?”  
  
Cas shakes his head. “No, Dean, I am not.”  
  
Dean doesn’t hug him, but it’s a close thing.  
  
*  
  
Cas ends up spending the night.  
  
It’s happened plenty of times before, but something has shifted between them, something that Dean doesn’t understand, nor does he care to place, because it’s kind of terrifying. The air between them is thicker and their silences end up stretching longer than normal, though it’s not with tension or doubt, but rather with an emotion that he can’t identify. Cas looks at him more, that cerulean gaze tearing right into his soul; for some reason, it’s more jarring than usual.  
  
He knows that Cas is waiting for something, something that he’s not sure of yet, but it’s apparent in his gaze and in everything he does. How he watches Dean from the floor of his room, how he stumbles through his nightly routine when he usually blazes through it.   
  
“Dean?” asks Cas.  
  
Dean nods, and then remembers that it’s mostly dark–his room only lit up from the moonlight bleeding in through the spaces between his curtains.  
  
“Mmm,” he hums.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Anything, Cas.”  
  
“What would you have done, had I gone off somewhere?”  
  
“Honestly?” asks Dean, though he knows that’s all Cas ever wants from anyone, especially Dean.  
  
“Yes,”  
  
“I don’t know,” he replies, because he doesn’t. “I haven’t let myself think about it too much. The thought. . . man, it, uh, I just didn’t think about it.”  
  
“I see.” Cas says, in that ‘strictly-business-and-the-truth’ tone of his.   
  
“Dean?” Cas asks again, after so much time has stretched that Dean almost thought he had fallen asleep.  
  
He should’ve known better. Cas still doesn’t sleep much and while it worries Dean to the core, there’s not much that he can do about it. Cas is stubborn and steadfast about some issues and making him see logic just isn’t possible sometimes.  
  
“Yeah,” he grunts.  
  
“I would never completely leave you,” he murmurs. “You do know that, don’t you? I will always be with you, Dean.”  
  
Dean doesn’t know what to say, because he never thought that Castiel’s childhood promise extended that far.  He had hoped, sure, but what you hope for is usually different from what you get in the end. He’s overwhelmed by what he’s feeling inside, so many different emotions swirling together beneath the surface, and he’s unable to control what exactly his body does. One minute he’s in his bed, quietly processing everything Cas has told him, and the next he’s over by Cas’ side, staring into his bright blue eyes.  
  
He kisses Cas’ temple–which later he’ll blame on being drunk on emotion and not enough common sense–and doesn’t say anything.   
  
But Cas understands him, because that’s what he does, that’s his job and he’s perfected it flawlessly.   
  
The smile he gets in return is almost enough to make Dean weak at the knees.   
  
-  
  
Castiel is twenty when Dean kisses him.  
  
He’s twenty and they’re in his living room, in the small studio apartment that he lives in right off of the campus. Rain is steadily pounding on the roof, which is ‘cliche’ as Dean would put it, but he doesn’t seem to mind, because his lips are currently occupied on  Castiel’s . There had been times over the last few years when Castiel had thought about this. There is no denying that Dean is an attractive man–has always been quite easy on the eyes, and even when he was that small, excitable seven year old boy, there was something devastatingly pretty about him.  
  
The problem hadn’t been that Dean was attractive (Castiel had been around attractive people before, and while he wasn’t exactly comfortable around them, he could manage); it’s that his personality shines so bright, sometimes Castiel is forced to look away.  
  
Dean is different then anyone Castiel has ever known. He’s intelligent, so intense and honest in his smarts that he sometimes doesn’t even realize how clever he is, and when he doubts himself, it’s hard not to find it both maddening and endearing. There is nothing about Dean Winchester that Castiel doesn’t like, which makes it impossible to hate him–which he doesn’t hate, either, because he doesn’t think he could learn to dislike anything about him even if he tried.   
  
He’s been in love with Dean for a while now, possibly always. He had grown used to the fact that Dean simply didn’t return his feelings, which had taken some time, but he had come to accept it. He hadn’t begun to move on, as Dean still was the only person Castiel could ever see going somewhere with, but the aching hope receded into begrudging acceptance.   
  
Castiel freezes against his lips. This is the last thing that he expected from Dean, and while it’s a pleasant surprise, he can’t find himself able to kiss back. Either from bewilderment, or confusion, he doesn’t really know, but he pulls away enough to see Dean’s face.   
  
“Dean?” Castiel asks, confused and uncomfortable. The last thing Castiel likes to be is confused.  
  
“Why did you stop Cas?” Dean asks, eyes dazed and mouth red and full, downright kissable.   
  
“I don’t understand,” Cas says, slowly. “Why did you kiss me?”   
  
He knows that he shouldn’t ask, that he should just take what Dean is giving, but the curious and practical part of him knows that he just simply cannot do that.  
  
He owes himself those explanations.  
  
“I thought you wanted this,”   
  
“I do,” Castiel amends, taking Dean’s hand and putting it against his heart. “I want this very much, Dean. But I don’t understand how  you could want this.”  
  
Dean looks at him like Cas is from another planet–he might as well be sometimes, he feels strange enough–and slowly brings their foreheads together. “Cas,” he whispers, so gentle and soft that it almost makes Castiel’s heart break. “I want this.”  
  
Castiel looks at Dean for a moment, stupid with Dean’s confession. He never once thought that Dean would want this, would want everything that Castiel is willing to offer. He always thought that Dean, if he ever wanted something like this from Castiel, would be all too willing for the physical side things, but would be detached from their emotions. It wouldn’t be the first time that Dean built walls around his heart, and Castiel, well, he had just grown used to the idea.  
  
“You do?”  
  
Dean nods, takes the hand that is over his heart in his own, and sighs. “I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, Cas.”  
  
Castiel blinks, and his breath stutters out of him like a punch. “ Why ?”  
  
Dean laughs, self-deprecating. “It’s hard not to love you.”  
  
Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He has never been very good with words, at least when it comes to speaking them. He stutters when he’s nervous, and pauses when he feels unsure and is generally fickle with language because seldom do people understand what he’s saying  anyway . But, it’s always been different with Dean. It comes as easy as breathing, being with Dean and reading each other.  
  
His fingers end up resting on Dean’s hips, hesitant and shy. Slowly, giving Dean the chance to pull away, he leans in, and once he sees that Dean has no plans of doing so, he presses his lips to Dean’s.  
  
It’s electrifying, now, and different. He’s ready for it this time, and is right there with Dean as he presses back against Castiel, one hand behind his head, cradling the soft, erratic hairs there, the other resting on Castiel’s waist. His own kissing history is short and pathetic, nothing to write home about, but even with his devastating lack of experience, he knows that Dean is a fine kisser.   
  
He nips at the bottom of Castiel’s lips, inviting and playful, so very  Dean , that it strikes Castiel’s senses and drags along his nerves wonderfully, leaving him no choice but to open his mouth in a silent offering. Dean takes it, kissing him deeper, now, his tongue reaching into Castiel’s mouth. It’s possibly the best thing that he’s ever felt. It’s new, but it’s comfortable; something that he could get used to.  
  
Soon, air becomes a dire need, and it makes Castiel pull off of Dean’s mouth reluctantly.   
  
Breathing heavily, Castiel’s fingers reach up to gently caress Dean’s face. “I hope you know that I love you, too, Dean. I always have,” Castiel murmurs, because Dean has to  know , these feelings that have been tearing Castiel up for as long as he can remember.  
  
Surprisingly, Dean leans into the touch, seemingly forgetting his ‘no chick flick moments’ rule. Though, now that Castiel thinks about it, that rule has never really applied to him.  
  
He hopes it never will.  
  
“I know,” Dean whispers, finally.   
  
*  
  
Dean graduates from Kansas University in May.  
  
It’s been four years since he walked up to Castiel and kissed the hell out of him–which could have turned out really, really badly, but luckily for him, it hadn’t. It’s been weird, but a good weird, a kind of weird that Dean can’t really explain, even if he tries. It’s nice though, great even, and that’s not to say that they don’t have their tough times (they do, and the whole world is aware of it when it happens, too). Dean supposes that they were always dating, even when they weren’t really aware of it.  
  
Their relationship didn’t really change much. Where there once wasn’t kissing or holding hands, there suddenly is. They’re still best friends, always have been and always will be, and Dean’s grateful for that type of stability in their relationship. There’s consistency, and there hasn’t been a lot of that in Dean’s life, especially before Cas.  
  
Sinking into Cas was as easy as breathing for Dean.   
  
Sam graduates from high school a week after Dean does, and it’s alarming to think about. They talk every single day (Cas teases him relentlessly for that, in a way that could only be done by Cas, and as much as Dean pretends to be annoyed by it, he finds it seriously endearing) even though Dean doesn’t live at home anymore. Dean promises not to cry, but they both know that it’s probably going to happen.   
  
So, anyway, Dean graduates from KU in May, and Cas is there in the audience, watching him and clapping louder than anyone else in the room–or maybe he’s just the only one that Dean really notices, he’s not really keeping track. He never thought he would get to this point, always accepted that he would probably drop out when he was sixteen and get his GED, but Cas pushed for him to do better, to make something of himself.  
  
Dean could let anyone else down, but letting Cas down was kind of like kicking a kitten in the face.  
  
He’s secretly thankful that Cas pushed him, and even though every single instinct screams at him not to, he thanks Cas everyday for it, too. Cas might not show it, but he knows that his openness is appreciated–it’s not like Dean’s known for his emotional maturity, anyway.  
  
When his name is finally called, Dean has a fleeting moment of panic, but Cas’ eyes quickly find his, and he can’t hide the gigantic smile that spreads across his face. Cas is here, and Dean can do almost anything with Cas around. Normally he would be berating himself for even letting that mushy of a thought cross through his mind, but this is his fucking graduation day, and damn it all if he’s not going to let freedom ring.  
  
He pretends not to see Sam wiping away tears, seated right by Cas, because even his stupid kid brother deserves a couple moments of humility–and really, who’s Dean to take that away, especially when he’s living in the moment.  
  
He accepts his diploma with a firm handshake from the dean and turns to grin brilliantly in the direction of his family. His mom returns his smile tenfold, her bright blond hair flowing freely down her shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His father nods in approval, happiness and pride radiating from him and it’s the first in a long time. He can’t help but grin goofily, kind of pathetically, in return.  
  
After everything is said and done, he walks over to Cas and hugs the fucking shit out of him–he’s usually not one for hugs, especially in public, but he’s a fucking  college graduate now, so he thinks he’s pretty much entitled to a few. Sammy cries into his shoulder like the girl he is, but Dean doesn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would.   
  
“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Mary whispers into his shoulder, her blond hair falling into his face and he doesn’t care for a second.  
  
“I’m proud of me, too,” he whispers, the last syllable fading into an exasperated chuckle.  
  
“Mary, if you hug that boy any tighter you’re gonna hug the air right outta him,” John says, but he sounds only amused and fond.  
  
Dean grins at his dad, and gets a clap on the shoulder for his trouble. It’s practically a hug in the language of John Winchester. “I knew you could do it, son,” he whispers.  
  
Dean doesn’t remind him that  he was the one who used to tell Dean that college was stupid and a waste of time, but it’s a close call.  
  
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Sam grins, because he’s an asshole and enjoys pointing out Dean’s shortcomings.  
  
“Shut the hell up, squirt,” he says, though there’s no real malice. Sam can be a dick all he wants, Dean decides, but he’s still going to have an awesome day. “Graduate high school, and then we’ll talk,” he adds.  
  
Sam just punches him in the arm. “He’s going to be intolerable about this for a while now, you guys  do understand that, right?” He asks the group at large.  
  
Dean glares a hole into the side of his brother’s head, but Cas jumps in before he can say anything. “Do you not think he deserves to, Sam?”   
  
Sam knows Cas well enough to know that it’s teasing in Cas’ weird little way of his, so he smiles at his brother’s boyfriend and shrugs like ‘what can you do’. That’s the end of that.   
  
“We should go,” Dean says, not because he doesn’t love his family, but because Cas promised to take him out (his treat) to the restaurant of his choosing, and Dean’s been craving a steak all day.  
  
Sam wrinkles his nose. “They’re probably off to have copious amounts of hot gay sex,” he muses to no one in particular.  
  
Dean grumbles, and in a fleeting moment of immaturity, pushes Sam hard enough for him to stumble into some pretty blonde girl’s lap.  
  
Sam blushes, bright crimson red and stutters out an apology, before glaring over at Dean. “I hate you, jerk.”  
  
Dean grins, winking at his brother and patting him on the shoulder. “Good luck with the lady, bitch.”  
  
Sam squawks indignantly at him. “ Dean!”  
  
Dean laughs and laughs all the way to the car, his hand grasped firmly in Cas’.  
  
*  
  
When they’re alone, safely nestled in Cas’ apartment, Dean feels a tender kiss under his chin. “I really am proud of you, Dean,” he whispers, sharing his parents sentiments. It means something different from Cas, makes him feel this bright and indescribable warmth spread throughout his entire being. He’s been saying this since Dean graduated high school. (“I never thought I would actually do this,” Dean had laughed, but it felt wrong in his throat, caught between regret and nerves as he tugged on his tassel absentmindedly.   
  
“I knew you could,” Cas said, and then he looked into Dean’s eyes, with those bright baby blues. “I knew you would. I am very proud of you, Dean.”)  
  
It hasn’t gotten old. He doesn’t think it ever will.  
  
“Are you?” Dean murmurs, preening a little.   
  
Cas simply smiles at him, a gentle quirk of the mouth that would’ve been insignificant on anyone else, but on Cas, it means everything. “You’re insufferable,” he says.  
  
Dean grins. “I fuckin’ graduated today, man. I think it’s allowed,” he argues.  
  
Cas doesn’t contradict him, because he knows when to pick his battles, and he likes Dean like this more than anything. He drags him further into his apartment, elegant hands on his waist. “I think we should celebrate,” he says instead.  
  
Dean leers, fingers grasping at the lapels of Cas’ suit. “Yeah?” He whispers, already breathless, even though they haven’t really done anything yet. He pulls his boyfriend closer, lips centimeters away, and stares straight into those fucking unnerving eyes before pushing their lips together. Castiel makes this  noise in his throat, like he’s possibly been waiting for this forever, and Dean’s fingers stutter on his clothing.   
  
The kiss is anything but chaste–it’s passionate and full of emotion: full of Castiel’s pride and blinding happiness, full of Dean’s sense of bewildering relief and love for this man, the one that’s stuck by him through everything. He licks along Cas’ bottom lip, swallowing the broken sound that comes out as he opens his mouth and slides inside.   
  
He’ll never get over the taste.  
  
“Clothes,” Dean says into his mouth. “The floor should wear them.  Now .”  
  
Castiel huffs a laugh before obliging happily, fingers pulling out Dean’s shirt from his pants and making quick work of the buttons. The shirt hangs off of Dean’s shoulders loosely before he throws it blindly on the floor, making a mental note to pick it up before Cas wakes up in the morning, because it pisses him off.  
  
Cas’ suit jacket quickly follows, fallen forgotten as Cas’ hands roam over Dean’s newly exposed chest, tracing along the eagle tattoo there. Dean lets out a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a grunt, pushing into Castiel’s touch as his teeth nibble on his bottom lip. He loves this, and not just because of the physical contact–which is great, too–but being able to be this close to Cas, and take what he wants, both emotionally and physically is something he never thought he would have. Hoped for, sure, but hoping is a loser’s game.  
  
His fingers curl around Cas’ tie, wrapping it around his wrist a few times, and pulling him impossibly closer. “Clothes,” he says again, all higher-level thinking seeping out as Cas melts into him.  
  
There is nothing but kissing and roaming hands, and the occasional desperate sound for a while. Which is nice; it’s nice kissing Cas, and it’s nice touching his skin, too, and honestly, if that’s all they do then Dean’s perfectly okay with that–he’s too high on happiness at the moment to really care if he gets laid or not. It’ll be a plus, but it’s definitely not a requirement.   
  
“Move in with me,” Cas breathes into his mouth, suddenly.  
  
Dean trips over their clothes on the floor, and looks at him, all of the breath stuttering out of him. “What?”  
  
Cas suddenly looks bashful, hiding his face in Dean’s neck. “Ithinkyoushouldmoveinwithme.”  
  
Dean blinks, pulling Cas’ face away enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t quite catch that,” he whispers, breath kissing his boyfriend’s face.  
  
Cas’ eyes turn embarrassed. “I have been thinking about asking you for a while, Dean. This apartment is much too big for one person, and well, your lease on your place with Chuck is up soon, and I just thought it would be easier for you to move in with me. It’s practical,” Cas says shyly, and then tries to look at his shoes–which is odd, because Cas is  never too nervous for eye contact–but Dean’s firm grip on his chin stops him.   
  
He can’t quite believe it, because while he’s never really said anything, he’s been wanting to ask Cas about living together for a while. It would just be easier, them living together. If Dean’s honest with himself–which he rarely is when it comes to his feelings for Cas–he’ll admit that sleeping in a bed where he doesn’t feel Cas’ body heat next to his own is becoming more lonesome than he’ll ever care to admit.   
  
“You want me to move in with you?” Dean asks, just to make sure he hasn’t been imagining the last few minutes.  
  
Cas looks exasperated. “I have said this about five times, Dean,” he clarifies. Dean grins at him, helpless to Cas’ adorableness. He twitches uncharacteristically. “I have a PowerPoint presentation on the laptop ready if you want to read the benefits for yourself–”  
  
Dean blinks at him. “What the hell made you think that was necessary, Cas?”  
  
Cas’ face flushes impossibly. “I saw it on  How I Met Your Mother.  It seemed plausible.”  
  
Dean can’t help but chuckle to himself softly, and is overwhelmed with the sudden need to kiss him, so he does. Only Castiel–only  his Castiel.   
  
“You’re serious,” he says, more of a confirmation than a question.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel says, simply, “I thought about doing a pie chart, but I didn’t think it would be legendary enough.”  
  
He’s struck stupid with how much he really loves his boyfriend, and he can’t help but smile at him all goofy. “Of course,” Dean says.  
  
“Pardon?” Cas asks, and there is a certain hope in his eye that Dean was blind too before, almost like if Dean says no then something in Cas will break.  
  
Dean was already going to say yes, but if he wasn’t, then that sure would’ve pushed him over the edge.  
  
“Yeah, Cas,” he begins, taking Cas by the hand. “I’ll move in with you.”  
  
Cas doesn’t grin, but his eyes light up and his mouth twitches uncontrollably. “I would like that very much, Dean,” he says, so happy and content that Dean gets silly with it.   
  
Dean grins at him. “I want my ‘welcome home’ gift now,” he hums, pulling their bodies flush together.  
  
Cas smirks at him. “I think that can be arranged,” he says, and presses their lips together again.  
  
Oh yeah. This living together thing? _Awesome_.   
  



End file.
